John Greenleaf Whittier

Again the blackbirds sings; the streams
Wake, laughing, from their winter dreams,
And tremble in the April read more

Again the blackbirds sings; the streams
Wake, laughing, from their winter dreams,
And tremble in the April showers
The tassels of the maple flowers.

We search the world for truth; we cull
The good, the pure, the beautiful,
From all old read more

We search the world for truth; we cull
The good, the pure, the beautiful,
From all old flower fields of the soul;
And, weary seeker of the best,
We come back laden from out quest,
To find that all the sages said
Is in the Book our mothers read.

The green earth sends her incense up. From many a mountain shrine; From folded leaf and dewey cup read more

The green earth sends her incense up. From many a mountain shrine; From folded leaf and dewey cup She pours her sacred wine.

Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West,
From North and South, come the pilgrim and guest,
read more

Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West,
From North and South, come the pilgrim and guest,
When the gray-haired New Englander sees round his board
The old broken links of affection restored,
When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more,
And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before.
What moistens the lips and what brightens the eye?
What calls back the past, like the rich pumpkin pie?

Somehow, not only for Christmas but all the long year through, The joy that you give to others Is the read more

Somehow, not only for Christmas but all the long year through, The joy that you give to others Is the joy that comes back to you. And the more you spend in blessing The poor and lonely and sad, The more of your heart's possessing Returns to you glad.